The Thought of Breathing
by Elerrina Star
Summary: When Jim Gordon find himself at the end of his rope, he needs a reminder that there is someone else out there who understands his struggle. Title comes from the song "I Will Carry You" by Michael W. Smith. NOT slash.


_A/N: Rated for language and breif mention of drug-abuse_

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_"Sometimes I wonder if my beating heart has a reason; the thought of breathing only takes my breath away. I've spent so many nights wrestling with this feeling; do I have the strength to make it through the day?" – 'I Will Carry You' by Michael W. Smith _

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Jim Gordon was halfway through the front door to his house before he realized where he was.

Thinking back, he couldn't remember a single moment of the drive that had obviously brought from the latest crime scene to the small slip of concrete he called a driveway; he couldn't remember parking his car or walking up the steps of his front porch. He couldn't even remember having ever consciously decided to come home at all.

_God I must be tired._

He had every reason to be exhausted; this week had even by Gotham standards been a bad one, and Jim hadn't slept in at least forty-eight hours. Before tonight he hadn't even been home in at least seventy-two.

Fumbling around for the light switch – more out of habit than for any real desire for illumination – Gordon flipped the lights on, squinting as the sudden brightness hurt his eyes. For the first time since they'd left he was glad that Barbara and the kids were in Chicago visiting family instead of at home; he just didn't have the energy to fake happiness tonight, not even for Babs's and Jimmy's sakes.

Stumbling to the kitchen he left a trail of discarded items in his wake, cell phone, badge, shoes, coat. He'd pick them up tomorrow as he headed back out the door and back to work again; for now they could lie where they'd fallen. His gun was the only thing that stayed with him, left sitting safely on the table and within easy reach; it wasn't safe to leave it too far away anymore since he'd become commissioner. Not that he'd ever been attacked at home, but the way this city was it could only be a matter of time.

Jim dug around in the fridge, searching half-heartedly for something to eat. Eventually he found some pizza that he remembered having ordered the last time he'd been home, and when he didn't find any signs of anything growing on it decided that it must still be edible. Forgoing the soda – because _no way _did he need the caffeine keeping him awake later – he poured himself a glass of milk instead, reminding himself to make sure and buy more before his family got back home.

He sank wearily into a chair and stared at the cold pizza, realizing that he wasn't really hungry despite the fact that he hadn't eaten anything today. He was too full to be hungry; full of frustration and anger and sorrow and disappointment and _hopelessness. _He told himself that it was just the fact that he'd come from yet _another _crime scene, that he'd get over it soon enough. He'd never been very good at lying.

_Snap out of it, Jim._ He scolded himself as he took a bite of the pizza, feeling nauseous as the unwanted food made it's way down to his stomach. _Maybe I'm getting sick?_

But he wasn't getting sick; he was _already_ sick. Sick of dirty cops and politically-correct mayors, sick of missing kids and doped-up teenagers and of always being _too late _to save someone even though there was never anything he could have done to help them in the first place. He was sick of being _alone_.

Yes, he was sick. Sick and tired and full and _empty_. He felt like that proverbial soda bottle that had been shaken up too many times; the pressure was building until it felt like it was crushing him until he just couldn't _breathe._ He didn't know how many more times he could be shaken before he finally exploded.

_What's the matter with you?_ He demanded of himself. _This case wasn't that bad. You've seen worse before. _

And it was true, he _had_ seen worse. This case hadn't been that bad, just a simple mugging that had gone south. Were it not for the fact that one of the victims had been secretary to the mayor Gordon wouldn't even have been called to the scene. Shootings like this happened in Gotham almost every day, and while it always made him sad, it usually took more than this to make him _hurt_.

With an aching sigh, Jim shoved himself out of his chair and went to the sink to put away his dishes.

He wasn't sure what it was that set him off; maybe it was the sirens that chose that moment to go off a few blocks away. Maybe it was the images of every crime scene he'd ever witnessed suddenly flashing through his memory. Or maybe it was just the fact that he was weary beyond exhaustion. But whatever it was, his proverbial bottle was giving one finally shake and James Gordon couldn't hold himself in any longer.

The next thing he knew he was slamming his fist hard against the walls, the doors, the table. He shoved dishes off the kitchen counter, books off shelves. He let all his bottled-up anger and frustration and rage out, destroying anything that came into his path without noticing any of it. All he knew was that he wanted – _needed_ to hurtcrushbreakdestroy something, _anything_!

"Damn! Damn! Damn!" He roared over and over again, his body shaking as continued to beat the wall. It was hurting his hand but he didn't care. He couldn't feel it over all the other hurts anyway.

He heard someone open the door and he heard the footsteps that rushed across his kitchen floor just before someone grabbed him from behind, attempting to restrain him.

"Let me go!" He snarled, struggling to fight his way free of the intruders grip. But whoever they were they were stronger than he was and continued to hold on, fighting to calm him down without harming him in the process.

"Gordon, stop! -Stop it!" The person growled. "You're going to hurt - Dammit, Gordon, stop!" But the angry cop just kept struggling.

"Jim!" The voice turned almost pleading, and something in the tone reached through the haze of fury and found the man of reason inside of Jim. "Please stop…!"

With a ragged cry all the anger rushed out of Gordon, and his strength with it. With a pained gasp Jim sagged helplessly to the floor, supported by the figure behind him as he sank exhaustedly to his knees.

Gordon knew without looking who the person behind him was, and while he would later regret losing control like this in front of Batman, for now he couldn't make himself care. Running a shaking hand through his hair, Gordon's voice broke and a tiny sob escaped his throat as he whispered, without caring who heard: "Sometimes it's just too damn much..."

Batman didn't answer, and Gordon didn't expect him to. He just sat there on his knees and forced himself to breathe while his partner sat behind him, one gauntleted hand resting comfortingly on the Jim's slightly shaking shoulder.

"I'm – I'm sorry," Gordon muttered eventually. He stared hard at the floor, sudden shame filling him as he moved away, refusing to look up and risk meeting Batman's gaze.

"Don't be." Batman's tone was stern and Gordon looked up in surprise, startled when he saw the concern and total and complete _understanding _that shone in his partner's – his _friend's? -_ eyes.

"It's what partners do," Batman rasped, and then he was gone, vanishing from the kitchen and leaving Gordon alone once more.

But Gordon didn't feel alone or full or empty or hopeless anymore, because he knew that he had a partner out there in the night who _knew_ and who _understood_ and who was _there._ And while he still _hurt_ inside, it wasn't an intolerable pressure just waiting to crush him anymore.

He finally felt like he could breathe again.

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_A/N/2: The original idea for this one-shot came to me during a time in my own personal life when a lot of bad things were happening. I found myself feeling very much like Gordon does in this fic and instead of reacting the way Jim does, I wrote it down instead. Took me a while, but I finally touched it up and finished it, and here it is. I'm a little nervous about it being OOC, so please let me know what you think. Reviews are love! :)_

_Disclaimer: I own nothing. _


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